(Daria Bhatia continued from Dead Moon)
There's a metaphor here. Daria's not sure she's bright enough to see it. She's not sure she's bright enough for anything, anymore.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Match your breathing to the lapping waves, rippling under the steady drizzle. You're a mess, Daria: your black hair hangs like Medusa's curls down the shoulders of your filthy top. You're greasy, and you've got that spicy BO smell you hated from the moment you first caught a whiff of yourself after wild dancing when you were 12. Course hair growing in too many places, chafing against stiff clothes. Course soul rubbing raw against itself.
In. Out.
No panic. No terror. What's left is blacker than her hair and heavier than her legs. So much walking, in fear and uncertainty. Abandoned in the night, with the threat of killers on all sides. No sign of Crazy Carrie. No sign of Connor. A few people spied in the distance, but by the time Daria started moving towards them, they were gone. And still her thoughts churned, trying to flesh out her idea. Her way out of the game.
She ducked out of the day when the rain started yesterday, fumed around an empty shell of a house. After awhile, she sat: after awhile, she slept. At least, until the Announcements.
"Next up white knight to be Danny Chamnanma fell, literally and figuratively to Quinn Abert who notches up her second kill after stabbing Danny and then using him as a crash mat. Points for style."
Daria barely heard what Danya said next, her sleepy thoughts focusing on that name. Quinn again. Did she bear the burden for that? Maybe she had held Carrie back: maybe Quinn would be dead if Daria hadn't-
"...there was a tale as old as time. Friend finds friend, friend approaches friend, friend gets shot. This happened to Regina Petrov and Caroline Ford when Caroline shot Regina and then decided to vandalize one of our cameras, so we followed through with our warning and blew her head off. Do not mess with our cameras."
Everything got very quiet and very cold.
Caroline had been looking for Regina. Caroline had shot Regina.
Daria rose to her feet.
Caroline had killed someone.
Daria stumbled to the door.
Caroline was dead.
Out into the rain, a little heavier that morning, gusting against her, damp against her skin. She barely felt the rain or the wind; she barely saw the island in front of her.
Caroline had left her in the dark. Caroline had killed someone. Caroline was dead.
So she found herself on the edge of the ocean, with countless shoes washing up against the shore, rotten lumps of barely-recognizable rubber. Had any of these fallen from the strange tree where she met Carrie? Where had they come from?
Metaphor. Paths that go one way. Paths that go another. The things we leave behind. Pieces of our selves.
She grasped for meaning in vain. There was no meaning. Nothing here made sense. Nothing ever had.
Crazy Carrie hadn't been so crazy. Crazy Carrie had been crazy enough to shoot her friend. Crazy Carrie had gone down blasting defiance in thunder at the same targets Daria had set her eyes on. Crazy Carrie was dead. And Daria was alone, and adrift, and utterly lost.
Binary Suns
Day 3, late-morning: Open
Binary Suns
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
((Quinn continued from Someone Get Me Off This Merry-Go-Round Called Life))
Quinn found herself, once more, at the beach.
Was she making circuits, now? Would she next find she was struck by an urge to visit the Shoe Tree again, and then make her way to the town after that? Perhaps. There were worse ways to spend the time. Hunkering down may have been preferable to wandering around like this, but the pair of confrontations back in the town had convinced Quinn that while seeking shelter was a good idea, it was better sought in a less crowded area. She could do without another Rhonda situation.
Rhonda...
Quinn was still annoyed about her. Really, was listening so hard? She'd never shown much conviction or inclination to think for herself in the past, when they were playing together. Naturally she had to do so right as it was most inconvenient for Quinn. She was tolerable as a teammate because she'd been good enough that they won, and Quinn preferred winning to losing. Otherwise, they hadn't had much of anything in common, certainly not enough that Quinn had ever been interested in hanging out with her to any greater degree. Anyway, she was dead now, so their shared history was relevant only in that it was going to make things potentially more difficult for Quinn going forward. Shauna wasn't going to be a problem, Cheridene, she could go either way. Garnet and Arizona, though? Once Rhonda's death became public knowledge, running into either them was going to be an even bigger headache than it would have been already. Thanks, Rhonda.
Quinn squinted into the rain. Someone was sitting by the sea. She paused, looked at the rifle. One bullet. Fingered the fresh wooden spike in her pocket. Looked back up. They weren't large, nor visibly armed. Probably not a risk, but she should be careful. Another moment's consideration, then she started off forwards. She wasn't going to allow some random bystander stop her from doing something she wanted to do.
Quinn found herself, once more, at the beach.
Was she making circuits, now? Would she next find she was struck by an urge to visit the Shoe Tree again, and then make her way to the town after that? Perhaps. There were worse ways to spend the time. Hunkering down may have been preferable to wandering around like this, but the pair of confrontations back in the town had convinced Quinn that while seeking shelter was a good idea, it was better sought in a less crowded area. She could do without another Rhonda situation.
Rhonda...
Quinn was still annoyed about her. Really, was listening so hard? She'd never shown much conviction or inclination to think for herself in the past, when they were playing together. Naturally she had to do so right as it was most inconvenient for Quinn. She was tolerable as a teammate because she'd been good enough that they won, and Quinn preferred winning to losing. Otherwise, they hadn't had much of anything in common, certainly not enough that Quinn had ever been interested in hanging out with her to any greater degree. Anyway, she was dead now, so their shared history was relevant only in that it was going to make things potentially more difficult for Quinn going forward. Shauna wasn't going to be a problem, Cheridene, she could go either way. Garnet and Arizona, though? Once Rhonda's death became public knowledge, running into either them was going to be an even bigger headache than it would have been already. Thanks, Rhonda.
Quinn squinted into the rain. Someone was sitting by the sea. She paused, looked at the rifle. One bullet. Fingered the fresh wooden spike in her pocket. Looked back up. They weren't large, nor visibly armed. Probably not a risk, but she should be careful. Another moment's consideration, then she started off forwards. She wasn't going to allow some random bystander stop her from doing something she wanted to do.
((Angie continued here.))
The shelter that Angelina had found yesterday was nearby. They needed to go up the hill then move around in the woods to find the little wooden shelter that Nikki and the others made. Angie knew for a fact it was near, but she wasn't sure exactly where. Her inner compass was still messed up from the announcements.
Mercy had died, poisoned by Kelly.
Mikki had killed two people then died.
And Angie had five minutes to process that before getting up. She didn't talk about it to Mike. There was no way he could help out with any of her emotions so Angelina just stared at her gun for a while. She could just squeeze the trigger and go home, wherever it was now. Yet, there was something bigger than her at play. Angie had to find him. So, she continued.
So, that's how Mike and she stumbled on the beach. The rain kept going. She kept her eyes on the road.
"Again, Mike, I'm so sorry," Angelina shook her head, "I really thought we could-"
Something moved to her left. Her hands were already on her gun.
There was a girl, a lot of shoes, and a shadow.
It was developping itself like a picture fresh out of a polaroid camera. It moved.
Slowly. Angelina wasn't supposed to see that. It was walking very slowly.
It moved. The Shape moved. It was a girl. If Angie had known her, perhaps she would understand the situation.
"Uh, Mike," Angie looked away for a second. "do want to talk to these people?"
The shelter that Angelina had found yesterday was nearby. They needed to go up the hill then move around in the woods to find the little wooden shelter that Nikki and the others made. Angie knew for a fact it was near, but she wasn't sure exactly where. Her inner compass was still messed up from the announcements.
Mercy had died, poisoned by Kelly.
Mikki had killed two people then died.
And Angie had five minutes to process that before getting up. She didn't talk about it to Mike. There was no way he could help out with any of her emotions so Angelina just stared at her gun for a while. She could just squeeze the trigger and go home, wherever it was now. Yet, there was something bigger than her at play. Angie had to find him. So, she continued.
So, that's how Mike and she stumbled on the beach. The rain kept going. She kept her eyes on the road.
"Again, Mike, I'm so sorry," Angelina shook her head, "I really thought we could-"
Something moved to her left. Her hands were already on her gun.
There was a girl, a lot of shoes, and a shadow.
It was developping itself like a picture fresh out of a polaroid camera. It moved.
Slowly. Angelina wasn't supposed to see that. It was walking very slowly.
It moved. The Shape moved. It was a girl. If Angie had known her, perhaps she would understand the situation.
"Uh, Mike," Angie looked away for a second. "do want to talk to these people?"
How long had she been standing here? Long enough so that the rain had lightened a little, thickening the boundary between the island and the sea. Some of the shoes had washed out into the wide, while others had crashed back to the shore. One had gone and returned--a red-and-white sneaker, its red still lurid in spite of its long exposure. She found herself watching that shoe idly.
The idea was close again: the one that had driven her from her first panic, that had kept her company beneath the shoes where she'd met Crazy Carrie and swaddled her like a blanket besides Connor's fire. The idea of choice kept circling back on itself. The binary. Everyone dies if no one dies. You don't die if everyone else dies. Absolute rules, like flaws in computer code. Something exploitable here. Something she could use.
She'd kept playing with the thought through the last few days. And while she'd played and hesitated, Crazy Carrie had died. Along with so many others.
The rain had slackened. The boundary between sky, sea, and land was absolute again. Daria almost regretted that. Soaked and shivering as she was, she'd enjoyed her moment of ambiguity. She'd left her shoes behind on the sand: her feet were deep in sea water, her body and her beach soaked in skywater. Who knew where sky, sea, or island, ended? The boundaries were blurry. No absolutes. No need for choices.
Like this, though, the boundaries were clear. Another simple binary. Of the ground or the sky. Of the sea or the land. Killer or killed. Winner or lose. Never both.
The rain had slackened, so she could hear the scraping sound of footsteps in the sand. She turned her head slowly, to see an unfamiliar woman walking up the beach to her. She had a gun in her hand.
Silence for a moment, as the rain whispered down around them.
"You gonna kill me?" Daria called, and her voice was leaden with weariness and resignation. "Go ahead." She looked back out to the ocean. "Won't make a difference anyways. We'll all be dead soon enough."
The idea was close again: the one that had driven her from her first panic, that had kept her company beneath the shoes where she'd met Crazy Carrie and swaddled her like a blanket besides Connor's fire. The idea of choice kept circling back on itself. The binary. Everyone dies if no one dies. You don't die if everyone else dies. Absolute rules, like flaws in computer code. Something exploitable here. Something she could use.
She'd kept playing with the thought through the last few days. And while she'd played and hesitated, Crazy Carrie had died. Along with so many others.
The rain had slackened. The boundary between sky, sea, and land was absolute again. Daria almost regretted that. Soaked and shivering as she was, she'd enjoyed her moment of ambiguity. She'd left her shoes behind on the sand: her feet were deep in sea water, her body and her beach soaked in skywater. Who knew where sky, sea, or island, ended? The boundaries were blurry. No absolutes. No need for choices.
Like this, though, the boundaries were clear. Another simple binary. Of the ground or the sky. Of the sea or the land. Killer or killed. Winner or lose. Never both.
The rain had slackened, so she could hear the scraping sound of footsteps in the sand. She turned her head slowly, to see an unfamiliar woman walking up the beach to her. She had a gun in her hand.
Silence for a moment, as the rain whispered down around them.
"You gonna kill me?" Daria called, and her voice was leaden with weariness and resignation. "Go ahead." She looked back out to the ocean. "Won't make a difference anyways. We'll all be dead soon enough."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
((Christina Rennes continued from His Whole Life Packed In Two Bags, Just Two Bags))
Ron was gone. Of course, one asshole dead meant nothing, especially if that asshole was guilty of nothing but panicking. The name Tirzah Foss was more important. She'd already had a kill. Same with Nona. Supposedly she'd ripped a guy apart. Quinn Abert and Nick Ogilvie had killed again, and there'd been some big shitshow where four people died.
Great. At least Teresa wasn't anywhere near her. Reuben she might have been able to deal with, but Teresa was laughing her ass down the slippery slope. She was definitely a Ramirez. Christina shook her head. She couldn't find anyone with a shred of intelligence or repose. But she could find
"Fuck."
Ron was gone. Of course, one asshole dead meant nothing, especially if that asshole was guilty of nothing but panicking. The name Tirzah Foss was more important. She'd already had a kill. Same with Nona. Supposedly she'd ripped a guy apart. Quinn Abert and Nick Ogilvie had killed again, and there'd been some big shitshow where four people died.
Great. At least Teresa wasn't anywhere near her. Reuben she might have been able to deal with, but Teresa was laughing her ass down the slippery slope. She was definitely a Ramirez. Christina shook her head. She couldn't find anyone with a shred of intelligence or repose. But she could find
"Fuck."
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
The girl spoke as Quinn arrived. Her voice sounded a little familiar, and she took a moment to place it; she'd been there back at the tree filled with shoes, the first time. One of the ones who'd interrupted her right as she was getting going. That prompted a spike of irritation, but Quinn shrugged it off. That had all been days ago now, and as much as the frustration still needled at her, the opportunity was long gone. Besides, it wasn't this girl who'd shot at her.
Quinn flicked a lank lock of hair out of her eyes and shrugged. All set to die, huh?
"I don't feel like it."
She hadn't particularly planned to kill her before and she certainly didn't now, with the girl sounding like she'd just given up. If she was throwing in the towel she was already a dead woman walking, no intervention from Quinn needed. She certainly couldn't imagine getting anything much out of it herself. Supplies? Maybe. Maybe that other thing she'd been batting around but her mood was so soured already, she just didn't think it'd be worthwhile. Unless she could be in the right mindset, then she risked spoiling it, and that really would ruin her day.
Quinn was mildly curious, that was enough to at least exchange a word or two. Not dying was better than dying. Why give up? This was why she didn't understand people.
"You don't want to be the one?"
Quinn flicked a lank lock of hair out of her eyes and shrugged. All set to die, huh?
"I don't feel like it."
She hadn't particularly planned to kill her before and she certainly didn't now, with the girl sounding like she'd just given up. If she was throwing in the towel she was already a dead woman walking, no intervention from Quinn needed. She certainly couldn't imagine getting anything much out of it herself. Supplies? Maybe. Maybe that other thing she'd been batting around but her mood was so soured already, she just didn't think it'd be worthwhile. Unless she could be in the right mindset, then she risked spoiling it, and that really would ruin her day.
Quinn was mildly curious, that was enough to at least exchange a word or two. Not dying was better than dying. Why give up? This was why she didn't understand people.
"You don't want to be the one?"
-
Somersault
- Posts: 312
- Joined: Wed Aug 15, 2018 8:56 am
((Mike Brown, continued from Oh Love, Where Do I Fall?))
He waved away the worries with a flick of his hand.
"Nah, shit happens, 's all okay."
That really wasn't true, because they were kinda starting run the hell outta time which was bad, like really fuckin' bad, but there was no point in getting all angry at Angie, tryna pick a fight over shit like this. Coulda done it, sure, coulda been the big man, but there was no feeling big when you were drenched in water, with no shirt, no weapon, no real friends nearby, just the sis of the guy he...liked, yeah, and certainly no real plans.
People were dead, yeah, and strange as it was to think that, knowing people were done and dusted. Ron got capped, and Jeremiah too, which sucked, but there wasn't anymore to do other than say a little prayer under his breath, hope that there was a b-ball team up in Heaven. No need to say the same for a baseball team, really, because Mike would've still ended up on the bench within those pearly gates.
The rain dripping on to his cap shook him from his thoughts, though.
Mike still had the cap on, 'cause the hair, yep, and still had those goals, but nothing else was really going well. Everything on the backburner, stuck in the bag like his wet shirt, but whatever. Whatever to all of it.
'Specially to that girl creeping 'round with her gun, and he wasn't talkin' bout the girl right next to him. Other girl, other girl with a gun sounded all murder-like and all too, which like, fuck, again, and honestly Mike was starting to get worried for the other girl there, but it was a muted kind, nothing more than a dull throbbing in his head.
Angie was asking if they should go out, talk. Maybe help? He shook his head, droplets flying off of the cap.
"Nah, we're good here."
The guilt'd go away. Eventually.
He waved away the worries with a flick of his hand.
"Nah, shit happens, 's all okay."
That really wasn't true, because they were kinda starting run the hell outta time which was bad, like really fuckin' bad, but there was no point in getting all angry at Angie, tryna pick a fight over shit like this. Coulda done it, sure, coulda been the big man, but there was no feeling big when you were drenched in water, with no shirt, no weapon, no real friends nearby, just the sis of the guy he...liked, yeah, and certainly no real plans.
People were dead, yeah, and strange as it was to think that, knowing people were done and dusted. Ron got capped, and Jeremiah too, which sucked, but there wasn't anymore to do other than say a little prayer under his breath, hope that there was a b-ball team up in Heaven. No need to say the same for a baseball team, really, because Mike would've still ended up on the bench within those pearly gates.
The rain dripping on to his cap shook him from his thoughts, though.
Mike still had the cap on, 'cause the hair, yep, and still had those goals, but nothing else was really going well. Everything on the backburner, stuck in the bag like his wet shirt, but whatever. Whatever to all of it.
'Specially to that girl creeping 'round with her gun, and he wasn't talkin' bout the girl right next to him. Other girl, other girl with a gun sounded all murder-like and all too, which like, fuck, again, and honestly Mike was starting to get worried for the other girl there, but it was a muted kind, nothing more than a dull throbbing in his head.
Angie was asking if they should go out, talk. Maybe help? He shook his head, droplets flying off of the cap.
"Nah, we're good here."
The guilt'd go away. Eventually.
"I think I know her."
Angie squinted. It did absolutely nothing but made her look kinda dumb. She kept her gaze on the girl. Not the one that was talking, but the one that had a gun on her back. She knew her from somewhere. But between her drizzling mind and weather, Angelina just couldn't quite place her.
She was a tiny puzzle piece that Angelina just couldn't put in the right place. It hanged around, not being a corner nor a side. It just sat there without any real connection to anything. Angelina just felt like this person was wrong. Something about her made Angelina's sixth sense tingle.
"Let's leave."
That's what her gut told her to do. She would have stayed if it weren't for the little feeling that something was wrong. She decided to trust herself.
"I think shit's about to go down and I'm not quite sure I want to be around."
Well, she kinda did. To make sure this thing wouldn't actually 'go down', but she felt like this was out of her league. Less because of the potential problem, but because people weren't the same from, let's say, day one. People had changed. Angelina had changed, and there was no way to tell how the people in front of her had change. It was rather fascinating, but Angie knew better than to let her curiosity get one of her lives.
"Follow me."
((Angelina exited the thread and went here))
Angie squinted. It did absolutely nothing but made her look kinda dumb. She kept her gaze on the girl. Not the one that was talking, but the one that had a gun on her back. She knew her from somewhere. But between her drizzling mind and weather, Angelina just couldn't quite place her.
She was a tiny puzzle piece that Angelina just couldn't put in the right place. It hanged around, not being a corner nor a side. It just sat there without any real connection to anything. Angelina just felt like this person was wrong. Something about her made Angelina's sixth sense tingle.
"Let's leave."
That's what her gut told her to do. She would have stayed if it weren't for the little feeling that something was wrong. She decided to trust herself.
"I think shit's about to go down and I'm not quite sure I want to be around."
Well, she kinda did. To make sure this thing wouldn't actually 'go down', but she felt like this was out of her league. Less because of the potential problem, but because people weren't the same from, let's say, day one. People had changed. Angelina had changed, and there was no way to tell how the people in front of her had change. It was rather fascinating, but Angie knew better than to let her curiosity get one of her lives.
"Follow me."
((Angelina exited the thread and went here))
-
Somersault
- Posts: 312
- Joined: Wed Aug 15, 2018 8:56 am
It was good that Angie was on the same page as him, right? Meant that they weren't selfish assholes?
Mike didn't really know, but she said follow, and so he did.
((Mike Brown, continued elsewhere))
Mike didn't really know, but she said follow, and so he did.
((Mike Brown, continued elsewhere))
"I don't feel like it."
Daria turned slowly to face her again. She'd vaguely recognized the girl before, but hadn't quite placed her. She hadn't seen her face when Caroline had taken her shot. But she knew the voice. That voice had haunted her, yesterday and the day before. The voice of a killer named Quinn. A killer who'd been calm and collected, even with an unconscious woman laid out before her. Caroline had seen monsters in her eyes.
So. This was the face of a murderer. Such an ordinary face. Even the livid scar over one eye was just...a scar. Barely visible in the drizzle.
She should say something. This was a dramatic moment, wasn't it? A killer and a failure, meeting on a beach. Maybe one would kill the other. Or hell, maybe they'd kiss. Or both?
"You don't want to be the one?" Quinn asked.
Daria blinked. She really focused on Quinn, for the first time since she'd arrived.
"The one," Daria repeated.
Zeroes and ones. Unrig the game. Break the binary.
"That's the bait, you know," Daria said. "That's how the whole system works. A one. Not a zero." It felt like her blood was flowing again, color and heat returning to her insides. The one. "The only reason we're killing each other instead of killing them-" Her voice was hot, feverishly bright. "Why you're killing Violet. Why you're killing Danny. Why Carrie killed Regina. Why every one of us is..." She shook her head, right pointer finger jabbing toward the collar on her neck. "How many kids on this island, Quinn? 100? 200? I dunno. I didn't count." She waved around them. "Let's say 100. 99 kids fight 100 kids, you know which side's gonna win? Because I'm a fucking genius, and I sure as shit don't."
Her eyes flashed between the grey horizon, the island behind her, the shoes around her, Quinn standing on the beach with a gun in hand. "So they told a lie. They said you can be a 0-" Her hand snapped into the shape of a gun, pressed against her temple. "Or you can be a 1." She pointed the gun at Quinn, snapped it up as though she'd pulled the trigger.
"Kill me if you want, Quinn. Kill Katelynn. Kill everyone. It won't make you 'the one'." She spat the last two words with all the venom she possessed. Her hand lowered slowly to her side. Her dark hair was wild around her head, her clothes clinging to her with water. But in spite of the cold, she felt hot. She felt like a flame, towering up towards the grey sky. "Because they can't make you a 1. You always were. You always-"
You always deserve to live. You always mattered. Carrie could be with Regina right now, or at a Church service. She could be with family, with friends, with doctors, getting the care she needed. She could have lived.
"You always mattered, Quinn," Daria said softly. "We always mattered. We were always 1s. And they think they can change that just by..." Her hands clenched into fists. "Jesus, at least you were willing to try, Quinn. These fuckers don't even have the balls to do it themselves."
Daria turned slowly to face her again. She'd vaguely recognized the girl before, but hadn't quite placed her. She hadn't seen her face when Caroline had taken her shot. But she knew the voice. That voice had haunted her, yesterday and the day before. The voice of a killer named Quinn. A killer who'd been calm and collected, even with an unconscious woman laid out before her. Caroline had seen monsters in her eyes.
So. This was the face of a murderer. Such an ordinary face. Even the livid scar over one eye was just...a scar. Barely visible in the drizzle.
She should say something. This was a dramatic moment, wasn't it? A killer and a failure, meeting on a beach. Maybe one would kill the other. Or hell, maybe they'd kiss. Or both?
"You don't want to be the one?" Quinn asked.
Daria blinked. She really focused on Quinn, for the first time since she'd arrived.
"The one," Daria repeated.
Zeroes and ones. Unrig the game. Break the binary.
"That's the bait, you know," Daria said. "That's how the whole system works. A one. Not a zero." It felt like her blood was flowing again, color and heat returning to her insides. The one. "The only reason we're killing each other instead of killing them-" Her voice was hot, feverishly bright. "Why you're killing Violet. Why you're killing Danny. Why Carrie killed Regina. Why every one of us is..." She shook her head, right pointer finger jabbing toward the collar on her neck. "How many kids on this island, Quinn? 100? 200? I dunno. I didn't count." She waved around them. "Let's say 100. 99 kids fight 100 kids, you know which side's gonna win? Because I'm a fucking genius, and I sure as shit don't."
Her eyes flashed between the grey horizon, the island behind her, the shoes around her, Quinn standing on the beach with a gun in hand. "So they told a lie. They said you can be a 0-" Her hand snapped into the shape of a gun, pressed against her temple. "Or you can be a 1." She pointed the gun at Quinn, snapped it up as though she'd pulled the trigger.
"Kill me if you want, Quinn. Kill Katelynn. Kill everyone. It won't make you 'the one'." She spat the last two words with all the venom she possessed. Her hand lowered slowly to her side. Her dark hair was wild around her head, her clothes clinging to her with water. But in spite of the cold, she felt hot. She felt like a flame, towering up towards the grey sky. "Because they can't make you a 1. You always were. You always-"
You always deserve to live. You always mattered. Carrie could be with Regina right now, or at a Church service. She could be with family, with friends, with doctors, getting the care she needed. She could have lived.
"You always mattered, Quinn," Daria said softly. "We always mattered. We were always 1s. And they think they can change that just by..." Her hands clenched into fists. "Jesus, at least you were willing to try, Quinn. These fuckers don't even have the balls to do it themselves."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Daria. The name came to her out of nowhere, and some of the gaps filled themselves in. The girl she'd never been able to catch up to in math; not that she defined herself in comparison to others, but she disliked the thought of being inferior to others. Being outclassed was irritating when she spent effort to do well. Irrelevant now. Quadratic equations, logarithms, statistics, none of those were going to help either of them here.
She spoke and Quinn listened, eyes wandering around her face. Blink. Blink. The conceit of this game wasn't something Quinn had considered in particular, but it had Daria animated, perhaps as animated as Quinn ever remembered seeing her. Dead, or not dead. Was it so simple as that, this game? If one broke it all the way down, then yes, but that had never been Quinn's focus. She didn't want to die, that had been an obvious consideration, but still one that faded into the background in the face of other elements of this situation. Survival alone, were it her goal, would have been a significantly different path to walk. Daria, she was repaying Quinn's faith in her own curiosity as she spoke about why people were doing what they were doing, or, why Quinn was doing what she was doing.
Ah. Quinn understood. Daria didn't get it. Or perhaps she did, but she didn't get her. That wasn't such a surprise.
"There could be a trick," Quinn allowed after a moment. "But I haven't fallen for it." She twisted her wrists back and forth, studying not the gun, but the hands that gripped it. She weighed the weapon and weighed her words.
"You people. You—" she looked up, and her face twisted. "Things. You never mattered. Not to me."
Quinn shrugged. Saying so felt more liberating than she expected.
She spoke and Quinn listened, eyes wandering around her face. Blink. Blink. The conceit of this game wasn't something Quinn had considered in particular, but it had Daria animated, perhaps as animated as Quinn ever remembered seeing her. Dead, or not dead. Was it so simple as that, this game? If one broke it all the way down, then yes, but that had never been Quinn's focus. She didn't want to die, that had been an obvious consideration, but still one that faded into the background in the face of other elements of this situation. Survival alone, were it her goal, would have been a significantly different path to walk. Daria, she was repaying Quinn's faith in her own curiosity as she spoke about why people were doing what they were doing, or, why Quinn was doing what she was doing.
Ah. Quinn understood. Daria didn't get it. Or perhaps she did, but she didn't get her. That wasn't such a surprise.
"There could be a trick," Quinn allowed after a moment. "But I haven't fallen for it." She twisted her wrists back and forth, studying not the gun, but the hands that gripped it. She weighed the weapon and weighed her words.
"You people. You—" she looked up, and her face twisted. "Things. You never mattered. Not to me."
Quinn shrugged. Saying so felt more liberating than she expected.
Anger again, throbbing in her in tune with heart. The old fierce heat, the confidence that hit her in all her low moments. A snide comment from a student, a shouted slur on the street, a fight with her mother, and there would be low, the doubt, the question, and then sure as the sun the anger would come and she'd remember that she was Dhairyalakshmi Bhatia, a sexy fucking genius, a bombshell destined for stardom, unmistakable, unbreakable. She mattered. And she would break this game to pieces-
"There could be a trick," Quinn allowed after a moment. "But I haven't fallen for it." Her eyes flickered down. Her hands tightened on the gun. Daria followed her gaze. Studied that gun. Different than Carrie's. But whatever the Announcements said, Carrie had never been a killer. Quinn was. And as bold as Daria was pretending to be, she was deathly afraid of that gun. She didn't want to die. Not before she'd had a chance to do what she'd said. To break the binary. To break the game.
"You people. You—" Quinn looked up, her face twisted in the periphery of Daria's vision, both their eyes fixed on the gun. "Things. You never mattered. Not to me."
Daria's eyes lifted from the gun in Quinn's twisted hands to the eyes in Quinn's twisted face.
"Oh," Daria said, because she didn't know what else to say.
"They didn't look right, her hands. Some things were too many, and some were too little. They didn't have eyes, and there were all of these little holes in their skin, and it looked like the holes were breathing. It's like they set loose something on the island, something we'd think was our friends just to... just to see what would happen to us. Maybe it wanted to feed, make more of itself."
A monster in the flesh of a woman. A is a woman. B is a sociopath and murderer. C is a monster. A=B. B=C. A=C. You were right, Carrie. You were-
"I'm sorry, Quinn," Daria said, barely aware she was speaking. "That sounds...really lonely."
It was a good line. Daria was surprised to find she believed it. She was thinking of Carrie already, who had clung to the thought of her friend even through madness. There was Connor, pretentious and condescending and inviting all the same, with murder all around them. She was thinking of Marcus, the 12 year-old she'd tutored she'd tutored only for six months now, undereducated and mouthy and smart as shit and decent. She was thinking of the people who'd worked with her on stage, at Quizbowl, at Mathathon, on her channel. She was thinking of her parents. She was thinking...
So many faces. So many people. Daria hadn't realized. The heat in her died. For the first time since she'd arrived on the island, she longed for the life she'd left behind. The fear of that gun morphed inside her: the sudden, terrible clarity, that all those things were gone. All the things she'd left behind. No, not left behind. The things that had been taken from her.
"But I don't..." Daria started, looking back to the ocean. "I don't...give a shit if I matter to you, Quinn. I matter."
Always had. Always will. Her mattering, like Quinn's mattering, like every person's mattering, was a fact, incontestable and inarguable.
D=Even monsters are people. E=All people matter. Objective fact. Proof in the equation.
Objective to subjective: if all people matter, than anything you do to try and pretend otherwise is wrong. What Quinn was doing was wrong. But Quinn was wrong in other ways, too.
Daria looked back at Quinn. "You coulda done this years ago, Quinn. If you wanted to hunt us, you could've hunted us. Could'a grabbed a gun and made the news back home. We're just things, right?" Daria cocked her head, pretending her heart wasn't pounding in her chest, pretending that gun didn't burn at her mind like a leaden sun. She was gonna die. She wasn't going to let that stop her. "What changed? Why in here, and not out there?"
"There could be a trick," Quinn allowed after a moment. "But I haven't fallen for it." Her eyes flickered down. Her hands tightened on the gun. Daria followed her gaze. Studied that gun. Different than Carrie's. But whatever the Announcements said, Carrie had never been a killer. Quinn was. And as bold as Daria was pretending to be, she was deathly afraid of that gun. She didn't want to die. Not before she'd had a chance to do what she'd said. To break the binary. To break the game.
"You people. You—" Quinn looked up, her face twisted in the periphery of Daria's vision, both their eyes fixed on the gun. "Things. You never mattered. Not to me."
Daria's eyes lifted from the gun in Quinn's twisted hands to the eyes in Quinn's twisted face.
"Oh," Daria said, because she didn't know what else to say.
"They didn't look right, her hands. Some things were too many, and some were too little. They didn't have eyes, and there were all of these little holes in their skin, and it looked like the holes were breathing. It's like they set loose something on the island, something we'd think was our friends just to... just to see what would happen to us. Maybe it wanted to feed, make more of itself."
A monster in the flesh of a woman. A is a woman. B is a sociopath and murderer. C is a monster. A=B. B=C. A=C. You were right, Carrie. You were-
"I'm sorry, Quinn," Daria said, barely aware she was speaking. "That sounds...really lonely."
It was a good line. Daria was surprised to find she believed it. She was thinking of Carrie already, who had clung to the thought of her friend even through madness. There was Connor, pretentious and condescending and inviting all the same, with murder all around them. She was thinking of Marcus, the 12 year-old she'd tutored she'd tutored only for six months now, undereducated and mouthy and smart as shit and decent. She was thinking of the people who'd worked with her on stage, at Quizbowl, at Mathathon, on her channel. She was thinking of her parents. She was thinking...
So many faces. So many people. Daria hadn't realized. The heat in her died. For the first time since she'd arrived on the island, she longed for the life she'd left behind. The fear of that gun morphed inside her: the sudden, terrible clarity, that all those things were gone. All the things she'd left behind. No, not left behind. The things that had been taken from her.
"But I don't..." Daria started, looking back to the ocean. "I don't...give a shit if I matter to you, Quinn. I matter."
Always had. Always will. Her mattering, like Quinn's mattering, like every person's mattering, was a fact, incontestable and inarguable.
D=Even monsters are people. E=All people matter. Objective fact. Proof in the equation.
Objective to subjective: if all people matter, than anything you do to try and pretend otherwise is wrong. What Quinn was doing was wrong. But Quinn was wrong in other ways, too.
Daria looked back at Quinn. "You coulda done this years ago, Quinn. If you wanted to hunt us, you could've hunted us. Could'a grabbed a gun and made the news back home. We're just things, right?" Daria cocked her head, pretending her heart wasn't pounding in her chest, pretending that gun didn't burn at her mind like a leaden sun. She was gonna die. She wasn't going to let that stop her. "What changed? Why in here, and not out there?"
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Daria apologised and Quinn didn't understand why. Sorry? Lonely? Because she didn't care? She didn't see how that was worthy of particular sympathy.
Daria went on, insisted she mattered. Of course she did. Everyone did, to themselves. Everyone was number one in their own mind. That was the point.
Quinn tilted her head to one side.
She thought about grinding Garren's face into a locker and watching it scrape to pieces. She thought of slamming Ivy's head in a car door until it split open. She thought about that girl in the basketball game, how she'd wanted nothing more but to throw her on the ground, stomp on her fingers, her nose, her throat.
She could have got a gun, 'out there'. It wouldn't have been hard. She knew where dad kept money. She knew where Colin kept money, if it came to that. She probably could even have just asked. Yet whenever she'd fantasised, indulged in her grisly daydreams, guns had never featured, not without being part of something much more sophisticated, elaborate...personal.
"And get life. Or sectioned. So I could be a forgettable school shooter, diagnosed with depression or something else, then stare at walls for the next sixty years of my life and pretend it was worth slipping the leash just once," Quinn tipped her chin back, regarding Daria for a long moment, unblinking. "Nothing changed. Opportunity just came early."
Daria went on, insisted she mattered. Of course she did. Everyone did, to themselves. Everyone was number one in their own mind. That was the point.
Quinn tilted her head to one side.
She thought about grinding Garren's face into a locker and watching it scrape to pieces. She thought of slamming Ivy's head in a car door until it split open. She thought about that girl in the basketball game, how she'd wanted nothing more but to throw her on the ground, stomp on her fingers, her nose, her throat.
She could have got a gun, 'out there'. It wouldn't have been hard. She knew where dad kept money. She knew where Colin kept money, if it came to that. She probably could even have just asked. Yet whenever she'd fantasised, indulged in her grisly daydreams, guns had never featured, not without being part of something much more sophisticated, elaborate...personal.
"And get life. Or sectioned. So I could be a forgettable school shooter, diagnosed with depression or something else, then stare at walls for the next sixty years of my life and pretend it was worth slipping the leash just once," Quinn tipped her chin back, regarding Daria for a long moment, unblinking. "Nothing changed. Opportunity just came early."
(Zachary Beck, continued from Lately Kiss My Ass Lately)
Zach’s run slowed from a sprint to a jog to a walk to a trudge as he finally collapsed on the beach. He had been running since the announcements first began that morning, not caring where he ended up. As long as he could avoid confrontation with either Sean or Thomas, he just let his legs carry him wherever he could go.
Figures he’d end up at the fucking beach. He determined he’d be out in the open if he went there. And he was. Damn, if only he’d paid attention to where he was going. Fortunately, it looked like nobody had followed him. As he caught his breath, Zach took in the dull surroundings. Just a gray sky with the roaring waves crashing onto the shore.
Just then, he noticed two girls in the distance. He tensed up. Reaching into his bag, he took out his gun. Keeping it close to his chest, he staggered to his feet. He kept his eye on the girls, just in case they looked at him funny.
Zach’s run slowed from a sprint to a jog to a walk to a trudge as he finally collapsed on the beach. He had been running since the announcements first began that morning, not caring where he ended up. As long as he could avoid confrontation with either Sean or Thomas, he just let his legs carry him wherever he could go.
Figures he’d end up at the fucking beach. He determined he’d be out in the open if he went there. And he was. Damn, if only he’d paid attention to where he was going. Fortunately, it looked like nobody had followed him. As he caught his breath, Zach took in the dull surroundings. Just a gray sky with the roaring waves crashing onto the shore.
Just then, he noticed two girls in the distance. He tensed up. Reaching into his bag, he took out his gun. Keeping it close to his chest, he staggered to his feet. He kept his eye on the girls, just in case they looked at him funny.
B018: Ned Jackson- 
G039: Yuki Hayashibara- 
B034: Zachary Beck- 
[[Arjen J. Kramer continued from The Definition of Insanity]]
The waves sloshed and crashed against the sand. Underneath was a shape moving along with it. The waves hit the beach and left behind a gift from the ocean. The unmoving form rolled across the wet sand before sliding face down to the edge, lying there, motionless. Black dyed hair and untied ropes around his feet and arms.
Arjen slowly washed up at the shore.
The waves sloshed and crashed against the sand. Underneath was a shape moving along with it. The waves hit the beach and left behind a gift from the ocean. The unmoving form rolled across the wet sand before sliding face down to the edge, lying there, motionless. Black dyed hair and untied ropes around his feet and arms.
Arjen slowly washed up at the shore.